


Midnight

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody should be alone on New Year's Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> There are a handful of people to blame (or thank?) for this fic...You know who you are!

“What you doing ’ere, Tyler?”

Sam blinked, suddenly unsure of himself. What _was_ he doing on his governor’s doorstep on New Year’s Eve? It hadn’t seemed so weird when he was on his way here, but now he was confronted with the scowling face of his DCI, he didn’t know how to explain what had brought him here.

“Uh…you left early.”

“The cheery atmosphere was gettin’ on me tits.”

“They’re celebrating, guv.”

Gene snorted. “Got nothin’ to celebrate.”

The door began to close and Sam hurriedly held up the bottle of whisky in his hand. “I brought this.” The door paused and, in a lightning-fast blur of arm, the bottle was snatched from his grip and Gene was disappearing down the hall. The door had been left ajar, and Sam knew that was the closest thing to an invitation he was likely to receive.

Stepping inside, he closed the door behind him and pulled off his damp boots and jacket before going in search of Gene. He found the man in the living room, perched on the sofa and hunched over the bottle, shirtsleeves bunched around his elbows, as he poured a measure into a glass that Sam suspected had been filled more than once already. And that was on top of the two pints and chasers he had watched him down in the pub prior to his premature exit.

“You just gonna hover in the doorway all night?” Again, it wasn’t exactly an invitation, but Sam decided to interpret it as such and sank into an armchair. The house was otherwise quiet and still and Sam assumed there was more than a little veracity to the suspicions that Gene’s wife had left. A squad of detectives had been going to notice the unironed shirts and earlier than usual appearances eventually.

Gene lit a cigarette from a pack beside him before reclining back with it, and the whisky, in his hand, blatantly ignoring his guest. Sam knew the exterior appearance of casual relaxation belied the hidden tension coiled beneath Gene’s apathetic façade, but Hell would freeze over before Gene Hunt started disclosing his feelings.

After several minutes of awkward silence, Gene finally spoke, squinting at Sam through a haze of smoke. “Shouldn’t you be back at the pub? _Celebrating_? Cartwright’ll be missing ya.”

“I wanted to make sure you were…okay.” Nelson had agreed – or been talked into – staging a lock-in for the occasion, and all of CID had been present. Gene’s disappearance had gone largely unnoticed after several hours of alcohol consumption, but Annie had seemed to understand Sam’s need to go after Gene. Besides, there were only so many of Ray’s lewd comments he could feasibly put up with in one night.

“I’m a big boy, Sam. I c’n look after meself.”

“I know. But no one should be alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“Charity case now, am I?”

“No! Not at all.” Sam tried to placate Gene before the hint of danger in his tone gave rise to something more physical. Unfortunately, continuing to talk was likely to have the opposite effect, but Sam persevered. “Everything happens for a reason. You should let go of the past, see this as an opportunity.” If only it had been as easy for Sam to take his own advice.

“See _what_ as an opportunity?”

“Your…” Sam waved a hand. “Situation.”

“What the fuck would you know about my ‘situation’?”

Despite the renewed warning in Gene’s voice and the fact he sounded like a bad self-help manual, Sam forged ahead, consequences be damned. Ever a glutton for punishment.

“I’m just saying that you should seize – ”

“The only thing I want to seize is your scrawny neck.”

Gene made no move to carry out the threat, however, although Sam did fall silent with a sigh. He was making things worse and should have known better than to come here. He decided it wise to let Gene brood in peace while he tried to remember what he had hoped to gain by following Gene back home.

The chiming of a clock broke into his thoughts – a small carriage clock on the mantel striking the hour. Midnight.

“Happy New Year, Gene.” Resigned.

Gene grunted, then stirred. He scrubbed a hand over his face then stared at the clock for a moment before his gaze flicked to Sam.

“Bugger it.”

Sam frowned at the softly growled words, but only had a split second to ponder their meaning before Gene was stood in front of him, hauling him out of the armchair by his lapels. He opened his mouth to ask _what the hell?_ , but the words were stolen by a kiss, rough and urgent.

Stunned, Sam could do nothing for a moment, his senses overwhelmed by the taste of whisky, cigarettes, and… _Gene_. Suddenly he wanted – _needed_ – more; his hands rose of their own volition, coming to rest, fingers splayed, on the solid expanse of Gene’s back as their tongues met in fervent combat.

Gene broke the kiss, tilting his head back to study Sam, face flushed and lips parted, sucking in air and looking just as surprised by Sam’s reaction as Sam was himself.

“Gene, what…?” Sam’s ability for coherent thought had been successfully obliterated. Thankfully, astonishingly, Gene was on the same wavelength.

“Every now and again, Tyler, you say something that isn’t complete bollocks.”

“You mean…I was right?” Some of that ‘embrace the future’ crap must have gotten through. Sam felt inordinately proud. He beamed at Gene.

“No need to look so bleedin’ pleased with yerself,” Gene grumbled.

“I gotta take whatever I can get with you, Guv.”

“You’ll take whatever I give you, Sammy-boy.”

Sam’s eyes went wide as the possible implications of that statement flew through his mind but he found himself nodding in response to that intense green gaze before he could fully analyse the implications. Gene gave a low, animal growl that shot straight to Sam’s groin and then he was moving, fingers at Sam’s fly as he walked his DI back up against the wall.

Sam struck the hard surface with a familiar thump that he barely noticed as his cock was engulfed in a firm grip that had him gasping and bucking. His own fingers fumbled ineffectually at Gene’s clothes, desperately seeking skin, but they were too clumsy and unresponsive. Gene was clearly suffering a similar impatience.

“Turn around.”

Sam complied with the gruff request, feeling his trousers and underpants tugged down his legs as he did so. Then Gene was right behind him, nudging his feet apart, breath hot against his neck. Sam braced his hands against the wall as he heard Gene spit, and then a slick finger was sliding between his arse cheeks, pressing inside, and he was biting down on his lower lip to silence the raw sounds fighting to escape.

Another finger joined the first and Sam drew a deep breath, willing himself to relax. Gene waited, working his fingers until Sam’s body stopped protesting the invasion and Sam was pushing back for more.

The fingers disappeared, replaced by the blunt head of Gene’s cock – _when had he removed his own trousers?_ – and Sam pressed his forehead to the wallpaper as he was slowly filled.

Gene, for all he acted like a bull in a china shop in other aspects of life, was being as gentle as possible, but Sam could feel the barely restrained energy in the bruising grip of the hand on his hip. For a minute, the only sounds in the room were the soft ticking of the clock and ragged breathing, until another noise joined in, and Sam was surprised to recognize it as a pleading moan issuing from his own throat.

It was all the invitation Gene needed. He pulled back, then thrust forward again, and quickly found a rhythm that had him repeatedly driving deep into Sam. The dull burn began to subside, and the sensation shifted so rapidly between pleasure and pain that Sam could do nothing but ride the wave.

Gene’s right hand snaked around Sam’s hip, and Sam swore as he was grasped again with warm fingers. The pad of Gene’s thumb played teasingly over the head of his cock before Gene began stroking him in sync with his own thrusts. Sam wanted to touch Gene; his fingers curled into the wall in frustration, but he was too lost to do anything practical about it.

Without warning, Gene canted his hips, changing the angle of his penetration, and Sam’s nerves ignited. He would have sworn again had he still had the function of speech, but Gene’s hand squeezed and pushed him over the edge. The inane thought that he had probably just ruined the wallpaper flitted through his mind, and then was swiftly eradicated as Gene coaxed him through his release.

He barely had time to catch his breath before Gene was pounding into him again with renewed urgency, Sam’s muscles contracting around him. Moments later, he was pulsing inside Sam and clutching the smaller man to him; Sam would likely have collapsed were it not for that supporting arm wrapped around his waist. He could feel the heaving of Gene’s chest against his back and the quivering of his muscles as he recovered, the heat of his body permeating through the layers of clothing they were still wearing.

“Gene?”

Sam felt lips brush his neck. “Just seizin’ me opportunities, aren’t I?”

“This isn’t quite what I meant. But, yeah.”

When they were both a little steadier on their feet, Gene moved away just enough to allow Sam to turn in his arms, and he rested his damp forehead against his DI’s. When he spoke it was with a husky whisper.

“I must be bloody mad.”

“That makes two of us, eh?”

Gene snorted a laugh. “You said it.” Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “Shit.”

Bloody hell. Gene was sometimes just as guilty of overthinking things as he was himself. Sam was not going to let Gene regret this, but anything he said would probably put the DCI back on the defensive. Instead, he placed his fingers beneath Gene’s jaw and gently lifted his chin, waiting until he opened his eyes. Meeting the wary gaze, he silently implored Gene to recognize that this was okay, that there was nothing to be worried about despite his ingrained preconceptions.

Somehow, it worked; Sam was rewarded with a minute tilt of his head signaling Gene’s tentative acquiescence. Surprisingly, a hand slid up under Sam’s shirt and vest, curling possessively around his ribcage, Gene’s touch hot on his sensitive skin.

“Not gonna try talkin’ me into making any resolutions now, are ya?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.”

Sam brushed his thumb over Gene’s stubbled jaw and grinned. He was happy to settle for having gotten this much out of Gene. One step at a time.


End file.
